A/N: I'm not sure if I wanna post this chapter, but I am. TRIGGER WARNING for explicit description of child sexual abuse.
This chapter has introduces Nick form the Guardian. For those who have never watched the show, some background: His mother, Anne, died of cancer when he was a child (I don't remember the exact age, I think he was in his preteen years) after his parent's divorce. Afterwards, his father sent him to boarding schools instead of caring for him himself. The show has him at the age of thirty, as a recovering cocaine addict working at his father's law firm, while also completing court-mandated volunteer hours as a child advocate for a non-profit law firm for children. I hope you enjoy it. -boots
Disclaimer: I don't own Criminal Minds or the Guardian.
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*TRIGGER WARNING*
The hands were running down her clothed body in such a way that it made no difference that he wasn't actually touching her skin. The fingers caressing her burned her through the fabric of her sweater and through her flesh until the flaming touch blackened her bones. Emily breathed in and out, fighting each rebellious instinct inside her in order to stay as still as she possibly could. Sometimes it helped, to bring her out of the newest scene Dad was directing in her life, if she pretended that she was fighting an actual battle- with swords and armor and a vanquishable enemy- against her fighting instincts; it made it easier to drift away from the groping fingers that poked and prodded and squeezed her like a goat for auction or like one of the Senator's maids.
Unfortunately, she hadn't discovered a good way to make the kisses any easier. The kisses sucked the breath from her lungs, and no matter how much she inhaled through her nose, it felt as if they had become permanently deflated.
Some were gentle, and soft; light feathery kisses she imagined were intended for a lover, but instead were peppered onto her lips and her neck. They were the ones that weighed the heaviest on her skin and would return to smother her in her sleep in the form of the lips of her father sealed tightly against her own, preventing any air from coming through.
And still, there were more, less gentle kisses; a never-ending conveyer belt of greedy lips, swollen with entitlement, that would bite and pull at her face like leeches. Every limo ride ended with her lips bleeding, whether it be because of her own teeth ripping at the tender flesh, or someone else's.
When the Associate Commissioner for the Children's Bureau was done groping her and humping her leg, he groaned and knocked thrice on the sliding window that separated them from the limo driver.
"Are you sure, sir? We have plenty of time." And they did, Senator Strach had given the Associate Commissioner three hours to ride in his limo and get to know his wonderful daughter, Emily.
"Eh…" He seemed to consider it briefly, but then growled slightly as his eyes fell on the briefcase beside him. "Unfortunately, I had not anticipated the Senator's generosity," the way he said the word made Emily's stomach lurch, "and have a previous engagement I cannot be late to."
"Such a pity, sir. Where shall I take you?" Anthony's stale voice carried in again.
As he rattled off the address, he reached beside him and pushed his fingers between her legs absentmindedly. Then, still pushing his fingers deeper, he pulled out his phone and began scrolling through his email. Emily felt tears prick her eyes and an overwhelming sense of shame crept into her chest. She desperately squeezed her eyes shut as she felt him add another cold, chubby finger. But shutting down one sense increased the others and she could feel more sharply the pain of his touch and the smell of his previous pleasure. Her assaulter groaned and put away his phone. Emily peeled open her eyes and tried to discern the shapes outside the tinted limo window. A pause in movement let her catch a quick breath and for a moment she thought the ordeal was over because the limo had slipped to a stop.
And then the sound of a zipper descending reached her ear.
"Meeting won't start yet, young lady. We've got time." And the old man slid her pants down and pushed her on top of him. "Ride me, whore."
Emily responded by dragging her nails across the soft flesh of his cheeks until blood surfaced. The old man howled in pain, and Emily enjoyed the few moments of pleasurable revenge before a hand wrapped around her neck and lifted her off the bastard. She clawed at the fingers with bloody nails, only to hear the dull voice of the limo driver telling her to settle down right before her head slammed into the expensively carpeted floor of the limo.
Emily groaned in pain, Anthony's hand still around her neck and pressing her face into the carpet. She heard an enraged growl right before a pointed shoe slammed into her ribs. Dad was going to be upset tonight.
"I have this dream. In it, I'm laying down in bed, about to go to sleep. And then, my dad appears in my room. He walks to the side of my bed and starts to tuck me in, just like normal dads do. And I remember just being really happy because he's tucking me in. I tell him I'm not sleepy at all and he laughs and says that if I close my eyes I'll fall asleep eventually, and that I have school tomorrow, so I should close my eyes now." She pauses and looks down at her hands. "So, I close my eyes. And then, I feel him leaning down to kiss me goodnight, just like normal dads do. But he doesn't kiss me on the forehead or on the cheek; he kisses me on the lips. His lips are pressed so hard on mine it's like they're sealed together and there's no air coming in. I can't breathe, so I open my eyes and he's right there above me. His eyes are open and staring into mine and even though he's kissing me, he's somehow scolding me for opening my eyes when he told me to close them. And I just stare at him, crying cuz I can't breathe, and he just keeps kissing me until I wake up."
Nick buttoned his shirt carefully and slowly. One button through a hole. Another button through a hole. Slow. Steady. Each button perfectly slid in. Nick sighed as he finished with the last button. Maybe if he went through the front door, instead of the back door, he would bump into Garcia coming back from the lab or Morgan going to the gym and maybe Garcia would insist on accompanying him or Morgan would tell him to live and make him skip and play football or something with him.
Maybe. Maybe.
Nick closed his eyes and prayed to his mother's God. "Oh my Lord, let this day be simple, and let only good fortune befall me today. Amen." He said it clearly, making sure not to mumble. Spencer, his roommate stared at him from his bed.
"Are you praying?" Spencer was only a year younger than him, but he didn't know about some things that Nick had previously thought to be common knowledge. That wasn't to say he was stupid; Spencer was smart, but mostly just about old history stuff and STEM stuff. He just wasn't very good with people knowledge.
"Yes." Nick straightened his starched collar in the mirror, waiting for the inevitable follow-up question.
"Why?"
"So nothing bad will happen."
A moment to contemplate the answer. "But you can't stop something bad from happening by praying. That doesn't make sense."
Nick blinked in the mirror. "I have to go. I can't answer your questions right now. I'm busy."
Nick didn't wait for Spencer's reply and walked briskly out of the room and into the hall. Oh, how he would so like to slow down and drag out the minutes. But Nick was raised to walk with purpose, and his mother would be very disappointed if she looked down from heaven and saw her son dragging his feet, so Nick continued walking briskly. He was expecting to see Mr. Rossi silently drinking coffee on the porch, but there was no sign of the house's caretaker this morning. Although another person may have been alarmed due to this uncharacteristic absence, Nick walked on stoically.
Spencer's mom was sitting in her rocking chair already. Today she was cutting the apples she had peeled on Friday and cored on Saturday. Thankfully the weather was chilly enough that Ms. Reid, in her wool sweater, did not have to deal with bugs, but still be warm enough to enjoy her rocking chair and the fresh air. For a brief second Nick stopped next to Ms. Reid, seeing if she would notice him. She had been responding well to her new medication, but she was having these odd periods of zoning in on things and not letting go. No one except Spencer could draw her away from these zones long enough for her to eat and drink. And even then, she'd be chomping at the bit to go back to the apples or whatever fascination she had taken up.
Ms. Reid continued with her task, so Nick began to move again. He mentally listed Ms. Reid and Spencer in his list of things he should pray for. He could see the chimney of the Interfaith Center in the distance and he struggled to keep his breathing even. His lungs struggled, and he gulped in air. It must be because the sun is out and I'm walking fast, he told himself.
The blond boy walked faster, feeling beads of sweat run over his neck and chest. Faster and faster, his legs hurt, and the dulled rays of the sun felt unbearable on his skin. And then, in the brief moment that Nick let his eyes close, he felt a rush of air and a painful tug at his foot. He was falling. Hot tendrils of pain curled around his left ankle and his knees. He gasped for air, frozen, lying in the itchy, moist grass.
Nick's foot had snagged on a loose rock on the walkway. He twisted his foot this way and that; it didn't hurt, it just throbbed a bit. The boy sighed and moved to get up, bracing himself on the ground. His hands sunk deeper into the earth. It was mud. His lungs constricted again. Nick looked down at himself and noticed the wet mud splattered over his crisp white shirt and his perfect baby blue buttons coated in the ugly, brown slosh. Don't cry, he told himself. You're a man. Men don't cry over things like this. Men only cry at funerals and only for politeness' sake. The tears ran down his face and Nick closed his eyes. What would Dad think of him now? His clothes were ruined, and he was crying. And Mom would be so upset because he was gonna be late to church. Stupid boy.
"Nick?" A clear, deep voice cut through his anxiety. The muddy boy lifted his tear-blurred eyes and lo' and behold Mr. Rossi's Long-Term Unit's Chief (aka the Chief) was standing before him. LTU Chief Aaron Hotchner towered over him, a stern frown on his face, clothes impeccable- starched and ironed to perfection- with his hand outstretched, holding a rumpled napkin.
"Yes, Chief?" Nick scrambled to his feet, gingerly taking the napkin to wipe his palms.
The older boy let an amused smile briefly paint his face for a few moments. "You can call me Hotch, Nick." His eyes took in the scene of the young teen and the mud caking his clothes and limbs. "You don't seem the type to enjoy playing in the mud, Fallin." He checked his watch. "And you've missed the beginning of Mass." Everyone in the LTU knew the Fallin kid went to Mass early every Sunday, mostly because it would always lead to Spencer rambling into a religious commentary during every Sunday breakfast.
Nick looked down, ashamed and expecting to be told off. He stared miserably at his stained shoes that were polished perfectly just a few moments ago.
"Are you okay, Nick?"
The blond boy stayed silent, unsure what the correct answer was to such a broad question. Of course, he wasn't okay- he was covered in mud and obviously had been crying. But the Uni- Hotch wouldn't want to hear him complaining about something that was his own fault. He was, after all, the one who was walking with his eyes closed.
Hotch eyed the boy. He had come upon him crying in the mud while on his way to see where Dave had disappeared to. He had figured the boy to have either slipped onto the mud or fallen in while playing. But now he suspected something truly to be wrong, more than just mud on a boy. The Fallin kid had never been particularly chatty. He had once or twice in the beginning of his stay gotten verbally and physically aggressive, but after a couple of weeks even that had disappeared, and the rich kid's opinions became non-existent. "I'm looking for Dave, have you seen him?"
"No."
Hotch flashed him a dimpled smile, wanting to put the boy at ease. "Maybe he finally overdosed on that ridiculous Hawaiian coffee of his." He stepped forward and took the soiled napkin from Nick. "You should come with me. Two sets of eyes are better than one."
Nick looked nervously at the Interfaith Center. "I need to go to Mass. Dave is usually at Mass too."
Aaron shook his head. "Dave goes to Mass after he goes to the AC. Since he isn't on the porch with Ms. Reid, something's shifted his routine. I think we should check the AC out, and if he's not there, I think we should go by his office."
Nick didn't know what to do. Should he follow orders and help Hotch or should he go to Mass, all alone? "I… I don't think I'd be much help, Chief." He glanced at the Interfaith Center again and saw a barely distinguishable figure on the front steps. The figure was wearing an open, brown windbreaker atop a black shirt with the customary white collar of a Catholic priest. The figure stood, with his back to the grey building, staring at him from the distance.
"I'm sure Father Doyle will understand."
Nick felt a surge of anger in his chest. No, Father Doyle wouldn't understand. Father Doyle never understood anything! Why couldn't Hotch see that he needed to be at church?! "I'm sorry, Hotch, but I should really go." Nick shook each leg of as much mud as he could and began towards the grey building.
Hotch felt a queasiness in his gut. Instinct was telling him not to let Nick out of his sight until he could talk to Dave about the boy's behavior. "It's just… everyone else is asleep and I knew you wanted to make Youth Chief this January, so I figured a little experience would give you a little leg up."
Nick froze. Becoming Youth Chief meant being a shoo-in for LTU Chief when the time came. And Nick wanted to be LTU Chief. It was like being Class President at a regular school, or like being Head Boy at one of his more pretentious boarding schools, like Irvington's School for Impressionable Gentlemen. Nick knew his father had wanted him to be Junior Head Boy at Irvington's, so he'd tried his hardest. But Rufus Charles Bertram the Third had his friends rig the ballot in the most obvious way, having everyone in the school vote only for him, and so he'd cracked the boy's head open on the marble sink in the bathroom when the Headmaster's only consequence had been to make Rufus promise not to do it again.
Nick remembered the look on his father's face when the Headmaster had spit at him that his son was no longer welcome at Irvington's because he was "a sore loser that wants to make a mountain out of a mole hill over a miniscule prank, simply because he doesn't wish to acknowledge the fact that his patheticness wouldn't have allowed him to win anyway". What he remembered most distinctly was wishing his father would stand up for him. But Burton Fallin simply joined in the disappointed and disgusted frowning of the other adults in the room.
"Hurry before you miss it, Nick. I'll be going, I've got things to discuss with Dave."
Nick jerked to attention. "Wait, Chief!" He ran back to the mud puddle he had fallen into and stopped a few feet from Aaron. "I can do it."
Hotch smiled briefly before patting the boy on the shoulder. "Thanks for the help, Nick. Come on, let's take the long route through the Rec Center. There's too much mud outside."
…